


i need redemption, for sins i can't mention

by iceberry



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s05e13 The Song Remains the Same, M/M, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:15:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27466300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iceberry/pseuds/iceberry
Summary: Sam has his laptop open, resting on his legs in front of him; the bottom of it is hot enough that it threatens to burn a hole in his jeans. He doesn’t move it.In the other queen-sized bed is Castiel, still unconscious 16 hours after he stumbled back to their motel room from 1978.(cas recovers from the strain of traveling back in time. sam struggles to convince himself that he was worth it.)
Relationships: Castiel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 50





	i need redemption, for sins i can't mention

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to sophie, my loyal proofreader. title from church by aly & aj

Sam has his laptop open, resting on his legs in front of him; the bottom of it is hot enough that it threatens to burn a hole in his jeans. He doesn’t move it. He's been on the same two pages for the past 45 minutes, flipping back and forth between his email, hoping that Bobby has anything close to good news to send their way, and national weather maps, scanning for any demonic signs. No matter how many times he aimlessly switches between windows in hopes that maybe _this_ time he’ll read something useful, his eyes refuse to focus on the screen. Maybe it’s residual side-effects from the time travel. Maybe it’s the ever-present weight that’s been on his chest since Lilith, or the feeling that someone is watching over his shoulder (and waiting for him when he closes his eyes) since Oklahoma. 

In the other queen-sized bed is Castiel, still unconscious 16 hours after he stumbled back to their motel room from 1978. They rearranged him from the awkward position he was laid out in, pulled him up so his legs weren't hanging so far off the bed and stripped off his trench coat, which Sam folded neatly and laid next to him. 

He's not dead - his vessel takes a breath every minute or so, and Sam still feels a faint, slow pulse when he presses fingers to the soft skin on the inside of his wrist. 

It’s unusual for him and Dean to feel pinned down to a motel room like this. The longer they’re in one place, the riskier it is. They’d had a brief discussion about trying to move Cas, so they could move themselves - if Anna _had_ been sent back down from heaven, then more could be coming - but they have no real way of knowing exactly how damaged the angel is or what would happen if they tried to move an injured celestial being.

The change in Cas’s breathing is the first thing Sam notices, a slight hitch interrupting the steady rhythm that quickly devolves into a gasp. The angel’s eyes fly open, staring out at nothing in the middle-distance; though his body doesn’t move right away, he seems to be taking a minute to regain his bearings.

“Castiel,” Sam says as he closes his laptop and stands up fast enough that it almost hits the floor instead of sliding off his lap onto the bed. 

“Yes,” Cas says, voice cracking a bit from not using it for a day. Sam watches, unsure if he should reach out and offer to help, as the angel props himself up and leans against a pillow, clearly with some effort.

“We weren’t sure if you were going to make it,” Sam says, knowing even as the words leave his mouth that it’s an astoundingly dumb thing to say to a half-dead angel, even for him.

“I had my doubts as well,” Cas replies, drily; someone unused to Cas might assume that the disbelief is a joke, but Sam knows he’s dead serious, and lets out a relieved huff of a laugh at that.

"Well - wait, let me get you some water," Sam says after a moment of standing and staring. He’s already in the bathroom, filling a chipped glass with sink water when he realizes he’s not sure that Cas would benefit from water, or if he even _can_ drink it, but he hadn’t expected to be alone when the angel woke up and he’s out of his depths - but knows that he can do this much. He places the glass on a bent paper coaster and backs up to the foot of the bed.

“Thank you,” Sam says quietly. “I know that Anna was a friend of yours once. You didn’t have to help stop her, let alone bring us back in time to make sure our parents were okay.”

“I don’t feel as though I had any other options,” Cas says with a frown, but it doesn’t feel pointed or cruel, just straightforward. 

"You could have just let her go," Sam points out, ducking his head and looking for something else to keep himself busy so he doesn’t have to maintain eye contact as they talk. There’s a severity in Cas’s blue eyes that makes him feel even more self-conscious than usual, especially considering that the angel is in the condition he is _because_ of Sam.

“And where would that have left us?”

“She just wanted _me_ , Cas.” Sam stops rummaging in his bag to glance over at the bed, and Cas sighs again. “If she’d succeeded in killing them, I guess Dean would have been collateral damage, and I know you have to protect him, but -”

"Sam," Cas begins, voice heavy in a way that instantly makes Sam feel a little foolish for protesting so much. "Nothing would have come of it. Michael would have smote her to protect your parents just the same if we were not there.”

“But if there had been even a _chance_ -”

“And among the orders I’m no longer following are the ones that were to protect Dean alone. You are both my concern now. You’re my friend as well.”

There's a moment of silence as Sam halts his busywork, and he’s suddenly struggling to process a word he's known since he was two because of who it's coming from. “Friends,” Sam repeats once, just to feel the word in his mouth; then twice, quietly incredulous and hopefully quiet enough that Castiel doesn’t hear it. “Friends?” He feels almost flustered, which hasn't been uncommon when he's around Cas. Maybe at first it was just because of the angel thing, but now it’s just - that despite _everything_ , despite the fact that he’s made an even bigger mess of things than when they first met, Cas considers him a friend.

“I will drink your water, if it will ease your worries enough to get you to sit down. Your movement is grating to my ears at the moment.”

“Sorry, uh - I’ll… I’ll sit down,” Sam says, still a little restless as he sits on the edge of the bed and slides his laptop back on his lap. “Is typing okay?”

Cas picks up the glass of water, eyeing it as though he’s unconvinced by it, and takes a small sip. “Yes, that is fine.” 

Cas's eyes fall shut again as he places the glass back on the nightstand, closing so heavily Sam has to wonder how much effort it was just to keep them open while they talked. Cas just lays there silently, and Sam knows that's his cue to let the conversation go and let the angel rest. 

He opens and closes his email a few more times before he finally puts his laptop away.

◎

Castiel has never felt perfectly at home in his vessel. No angel ever really does, except maybe the Archangels - but they can't _all_ have carefully predestined true vessels, that's a privilege reserved for few. He has caught himself wondering with some shame if demons feel more comfortable inside humans, though he knows how deeply disgraceful and far beneath the angels they are, simply because of how casual the taking of a vessel seems to them. 

Right now, the discomfort is particularly glaring. Usually, he feels like Jimmy is straining at the seams to hold him in. Now, his vessel feels too big. 

He is not truly asleep, though he wishes more and more that was the case. His state is best described as more of a self-induced unconsciousness, but no, _That’s not quite right either_ , because his mind is not quiet and empty. Before he was rebuilt from scratch after Raphael destroyed him, Jimmy’s thoughts would float forward on the rare occasions that his own consciousness would drift back. Now the thoughts are all his own, and they are exhausting. Rebelling is exhausting. Not having access to the grace of Heaven is exhausting. Convincing Sam Winchester that he is worthy of living is exhausting.

Their brief conversations when he opens his eyes do not change Castiel’s opinion that Sam is his friend, but Sam’s anxieties about the worth of the trial Castiel is putting himself through, about the value of his life in the grand scheme of the apocalypse, trouble the angel far more than they should. It’s irritating, as so many of the new feelings he’s navigated since rebelling are.

The first time he comes to and Dean is in the room alone with him, he doesn’t bring up Sam immediately, though it is in the front of his mind when he "wakes." He waits until the older Winchester is settled on the edge of the other bed, beer in hand and TV playing some pointless drivel that makes the angel's head hurt.

“Your brother,” Castiel begins, and words are still so much harder to form than they should be, even after 36 hours, 23 minutes, and 14 seconds of rest (not counting his convalescence in 1978). "Seemed shocked to learn that I considered him a friend."

Dean snickers at that, and Castiel opens one eye to look over at the hunter in the other bed. 

"You do not seem surprised."

"You guys didn't exactly roll out the red carpet for him," Dean says, taking a sip of his beer and staring vaguely in the direction of the television, though Castiel is not convinced he is actually watching. "The kid's believed in angels his entire life, _prayed_ to them, then you barely shake the poor kid’s hand and remind him about the demon blood.”

Castiel opens his other eye, but chooses to stare up at the ceiling. It is a truly hideous plaster texture, chunks broken off in parts, but he bears looking at it to avoid the energy required to maintain eye contact during a conversation that he is already deeply uncomfortable with. “It was a true statement,” he says, perhaps a weak defense, but the one that comes to mind.

"Cas, dude, that's not the point."

"Hm," Castiel replies, and closes his eyes, letting his consciousness drift back from the world around him to the inside of his vessel, trying to retreat far enough that the crackle of the television is no longer irritating. He can hear the release of breath as Dean opens up his mouth to say something else, and the inhale when the hunter decides not to, ostensibly because he thinks Cas has fallen asleep again. 

Castiel is suddenly grateful for the additional space, allowing him to scatter his thoughts about enough that he can leave this particular one alone for now.

◎

They stay in the motel for two more nights. They switch on and off for who stays and watches Cas drift in and out of consciousness and who goes out and gets food and who picks up the cheapest whiskey and watery beer they can find in the liquor store down the street. They switch who sleeps on the pullout and who sleeps on the other queen, and Dean is apparently stressed enough about Castiel and the apocalypse that he doesn’t even complain that much when it's his turn on the pullout.

Cas is awake for longer and longer stretches, but he still doesn’t leave them, and Sam can’t help but wonder if he even _can_ fly off like he used to, or if he'll ever be able to again. The thought eats away at him when he watches Cas sleep; if Cas doesn’t recover and it could have all been avoided if Sam had gone with Anna. _She was probably right about me_ , Sam thinks to himself. Taking him off the board would have dealt a ruinous blow to Lucifer’s plan, and though he’s grateful, it’s difficult to think about the lengths Dean and Cas went to keep him safe; it’s hard _not_ to think about them when he looks at Cas still drifting in and out of consciousness.

Dean is out getting burgers and Cas is flipping through the motel bible the next time they talk about what’s still hanging in the air between them.

"You have made my life much more complicated than it used to be, Sam Winchester. Both of you, I suppose, but..." Cas stops the sentence early, but Sam hears where it was clearly going - _but especially you_.

"Yeah, well," Sam starts, and looks away, then down at his hands. _You don't need to bring it up_ is how he finishes it in his mind, but right now he's not going to deny Castiel the opportunity to remind him of his mistakes if that's what he wants to do. The angel is laying across from him still in terrible shape after taking Dean and him back in time to save their parents from a rogue angel that he once considered a friend, and this is apparently _better_ than the condition Cas thought he was going to be in. If anybody is justified in bringing it up, it’s him.

"I am not referring to the apocalypse, though that as well." Sam stops pulling at a thread on the motel comforter for a second to look up at him, surprised.

"The hospital," Cas says, and Sam furrows his brow trying to place exactly what moment Cas is talking about, trying to sift through the detritus of bad memories the last year left scattered around his mind.

"After Alistair. When you came after me in the hallway and yelled at me for allowing Dean to be hurt." Castiel sounds reflective, despite the weariness in his voice. "It was not the first conversation that forced me to confront my doubts. But it was the last conversation I had with a human before I actively rebelled. I still think about how frustrated I was that you were right." There’s a slight sardonic lilt to the last line, but Sam can’t detect any changes in the angel’s deadpan expression.

 _Fuck,_ he thinks when the memory clicks into place. "Fuck, Cas, I was still-"

"Under the influence of demon blood after drinking a copious amount of it, I am aware. I was aware then as well," Cas turns his head and looks at Sam. "It did not change the fact that you were right and that I should have been doubting the way of things."

Sam isn’t sure how to respond to that - if he should apologize, or say that he’s welcome, or ask for Cas to explain what happened after that conversation. Instead, he asks something he’s been wondering since he was pulled from that church Ilchester and left on that plane, clean. Or cleaner than he’d been. "Can you tell _now_?" Sam asks. "That my blood is…"

"You are asking if your presence feels like a demon's," Cas finishes, tilting his head. Sam winces, hopes his reaction isn’t too obvious.

"Yeah. Basically, I guess."

"No, Sam, it does not." Cas flips through the motel bible, but does not seem to be reading the words as much as it is a meditation practiced by turning pages. "When you were imbibing the blood, yes, it was very easy to recognize their energy inside of you. But you feel like no one else."

"But still different from a human?"

“My point is,” Castiel sighs, clearly short on patience and energy. “You do not feel demonic. You do not feel _evil_.”

“Right,” Sam says. He’s not sure how to respond, but he knows it isn’t Cas’s responsibility to give him absolution or reassure him. The fact that he’s just realized he _wants_ that absolution from Cas is beside the point. Cas is already placing the bible on the nightstand and folding his hands over his chest.

“I suspect I will be healed enough to leave tomorrow,” Cas says, and Sam just nods. 

He’s looking forward to getting out of the motel. Maybe having more space to think will help.

**Author's Note:**

> people be like deancas canon............ castiel dead.......... and im like......... ... i just wanna mow hay (write samcas)
> 
> i thought i started this in august but it turns out i've had this sitting around since... may... lmao? s5 cas is honestly my Favorite cas, he's truly just an angry bastard all season and i think that's very cool and fun
> 
> follow my breakdown on twitter @tube_ebooks


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